~~~~ 

The land to the East of the Great River had well been named the land of the Moon; for its forests held a sweet fragrance which seemed to call one to one’s rest, to soft dreams and higher thoughts. And as evening fell upon Ithilien so too did the scent blossom, stronger and lighter altogether; and troubled hearts would find their ease at times when near it, and the unrested would find rest. And in the Summer time wild flowers added their fresh scent, and soft winds bore it here and there, to all the corners of the forests.

In the cool air of morning, the Lady Éowyn stood before such winds and felt as they caressed her face and whispered about her; and she could sense the fragrance of the land flow in the air. The hour was early still, and for it the sun brought little warmth; but its light shone bright upon her and made the leaves and grass glitter with gold and green. And as she saw it come to life beneath clear skies she felt the beauty of Ithilien flow through her, to then leave her at ease and full in heart.

Atop a grassy knoll she rested, her gaze stretched over forests and dales, and before her she held a sword unsheathed; like to the body of a tree it stood in her hands, straight and unmoving, and for the first time since touching the steel of blade Éowyn was uneasy to wield it. The sword seemed to her no heavier than before, nor would the swing of it be any less familiar than it last had been in the City of Gondor; yet to lift up a weapon in a land which brought peace and calm into her heart seemed to her unseemly. For such was the manner she looked upon the fair Ithilien, as a realm of ease and healing; its lands had been tainted by shadow for many long years, men had fought and died within its bounds and their blood had wet its earth, and even now its once greatest City stood empty, sullied and forlorn - yet this realm would rise again, to be once more clean and unmarred, even as the view laid now before her. And for the hopes that had burned bright in the faces of its people not three days ago, when all had gathered to their joy, Éowyn had wished Ithilien to see no more of battle.

For this, the Lady of the Shield Arm stood now in wait and in thought, holding her sword before her and shying to begin her practice. She had walked to the mound that she now stood upon bearing that thought in mind – for she had not handled her sword in the past days for lack of time, and in the house she lived in here there was no place prepared for such a task. Yet, before she could take to it, her heart had failed her - and she could not now bring herself to wield her sword before the beauty she beheld, for fear that such a thing would slight it. And in the end Éowyn gave a smile, and in good heart yielded the challenge set before her – the open ground of Ithilien would not serve as her practice ring, though to protect and keep its lands she would herself take up the sword. And feeling for a moment longer the soft touch of the winds and the fresh scent they bore she resolved to make for the house. 

Then when she turned to gather up her sheath she saw the Lord Faramir near to the old tree it rested against; by its roots he stood, his arms folded before him, and where soft rays of sunlight pierced between branches and leaves there were patches of light upon his tunic of blue silk. And, watching him, Éowyn made no other move, but kept to her place in waiting and surprise.

“Good morrow,” he said to her, his voice that of a man rested and glad.

“Good morrow,” Éowyn answered. “I did not hear you come.” And before he could reply she said: “Why did you stand in wait, and did not call to me?”

“Because you are a fair sight for my eyes to behold,” her lord answered; for so she seemed to him, fairest among the fair, as she stood with her long hair flowing unbound upon her shoulders and the blade steady in her hands, both lighted by the sun and gleaming. And hearing this Éowyn smiled and bowed her head, feeling abashed for his regard and foolish for her mood. Much warmth was in his words, and they fell new upon her ears even if it did not upon her heart – for such had his address been upon the night and morning of the feast, and such had been his gaze from that time hence; and when she felt that warmth she knew she had had need of it, and now that she had heard his words she saw she had awaited them – but knowing not how she could answer she said no word to him.

And to her husband’s lips a swift smile came, and he bent down to take hold of the sheath beside him; and as he walked toward her in soft and measured steps he said: “Also, because you seemed to me deep in your thoughts; I wished not to disturb them.” When he reached her he stood still, and with both hands he handed her the sheath; then looking long into her eyes he asked: “What did you dwell upon?” And as she took his offering Éowyn saw a glimmer in his gaze, and felt strange to think that she had brought it.

“I wished to wield this,” she answered, and looked down at the sword she now held with one hand; “I wondered if ever I would have need of it once more.” And, with her sight kept lowered still, she asked: “Are there any signs of war? Of that which was once feared?”

“We have discovered no such signs,” said Faramir.

And for his answer Éowyn was glad, for it matched well her hopes from earlier. And she turned away the sudden thought that their wedding had till then served its end, for not two days had passed since her resolve to think no longer of the purpose for which they were joined. Instead, she wondered what would come to pass if war indeed rose to these lands again, of the men who would set out to peril and great deeds, of her lord who would lead them, and of herself; and then another thought came to her mind, swift and challenging, and she raised her eyes to his.

“Yet if war was to come again,” she said, sheathing her sword at last, “what would you say if I wished to ride to battle?”

For a moment Faramir was silent, his grey eyes intent upon her, and then he bent his head a little, and in an even voice he said:

“I would hope you no longer have cause to do so now.”

“Why would you have such hope?” asked Éowyn, steady of voice, and waiting for his words to prove her right or wrong; for she had set this trial less for her husband than for herself, and for how well she thought to know him.

“You told me once of that which drove you in your ride to War,” Faramir answered, “a feeling of despair deep in your heart, a dread of uselessness – the fear that you would be forgotten by the years that passed you by. In that battle you had sought for death,” he spoke in quiet tones, “and, in your death, escape; a reprieve from grief and unrest by whatever means. If they indeed have been the cause to bring you to the crushing of helms and spurring of horse, then, yes, I hope that they will never drive you once again.” His eyes had turned grave in speaking, and at the last his voice was deep; and for the first ever time Éowyn thought that she might not have been alone in doubt and worry in the two months that had nigh passed. And she wished to say to him he need not fear, for such dark thoughts had left her long ago, and in this land and by his side there could be no sorrow. But that thought was new to her, a sudden understanding which she could not bring herself to share as yet; and having still need of his answer she pressed on instead:

“Yet they were not alone to drive me; I rode to do battle, to stand beside my people in what could well have been their final hour. I rode for valour and for glory and for the songs that would be sung.”

“And now you have such songs, and the honour you have wished for,” her lord replied; “no other battle of Men could bring you any greater. And if Gondor alone would go to war tomorrow you could well have no people for whom your heart would call you to the fight, for you might not yet see them as your own; such love of land is born at times from the passing of many years, and only months have to this day gone by since you became a lady of this realm.”

“Then I would wish to ride for the rush of the horse alone. But would you still avoid my meaning? For surely you must see it.” And, as she spoke, Éowyn hoped her lord could also see her true design - that she had asked him this not from some doubt of him that lingered in her heart, but from the need to prove the very faith she had in him, and in his answer that would wrong her not. 

“I would rather you do not see battle once more,” Faramir said at length; and she could see his words had been chosen with care, and felt his gaze upon her, searching and keen.

“Why would you keep me from it?” she asked; and her voice was even, and bore no defiance. And as she looked into Faramir’s eyes she saw them clear and quiet, and thought that he had understood her purpose.

“I would not keep you, Éowyn,” his answer came, “for, if indeed you wished to join the host that would assemble, you would well find a way, even by riding once again in hiding. But, for my part, I would not know you in harm’s way.”

“You say this even as you yourself would go to meet it, and would take your men alongside you.” And she drew back from him, for her words called for it even if her heart did not. With baited breath she waited for her lord’s reply, her hands held fast once more to the coiled hilt of her sword, as if its weight alone could steady her should some betrayal come her way.

“I say this with my faith in you,” said Faramir, “for you have done great deeds, and I call fool the one who would deny them, but knowing that men of greater strength than yours have died in vain, and fast; and that, for all your skill and spirit, you have, in truth, weathered one battle only, upon only one day.

“The enemy has never harried you,” her lord went on, nearing her slowly as he spoke, “you have not suffered cold, and rain, and heat for days on end while waiting for their strike; despair you know, but you have not had to raise your sword when fighting it as well, wearied in mind and body, and fearing for your life. These and more you would have to learn, as all soldiers have to, and as all those who live on after battle do; but I would not risk your end for such a thing.”  

When he fell silent Éowyn was at a loss; for those were not the reasons she had thought to hear for keeping her from battle – if, indeed, she had thought of any beforehand – nor were they reasons she had heard before. Men had spoken to her of duty, of the part she had been set aside for, of little worth and little strength – none had considered her skill in earnest, none had brought forth such arguments as her lord had. And for the ban his words had placed before her, however softly spoken, she was at once saddened and surprised – for it seemed to her then less of a burden than she had once thought it would be. And of her questions she only had one other left:

“From your answer,” said Éowyn, “I am to think that for the too little times that I have taken up the shield you would have me take it up no more. Why, then, cross your blade with mine if I should never see another battle?”

“If for nothing else,” Faramir answered, “because harm may befall you still even outside the field of battle – you know this well; and, either by my hand or yours, I wish to know you safe.” Then his gaze fleeted from her eyes a moment, and in a softer voice he said: “I would wish for it in the field as well, for you could never be to me only another sworded arm; to you… I would be husband first and Captain after – and in the field that must not be.”

And for a moment her breath caught, and for his words a rush of wholeness and relief came upon her, like to the soft touch of summer rain; and it was as if her heart had shifted, and a knot had been untied. And with her gaze settled upon her lord she saw no other thing, but felt cool winds about her wrists and the hilt in her hands, the sun as it warmed her back, and the warmth in her heart.

“Éowyn, you have seen battle, aye, and know well that which war may bring,” spoke Faramir once more; “but you have not lived it – and I do not wish you to. And if I want to hold you far from harm, from pain and hardship, from cares of any kind; if I would rather see you well, and strong, and smiling in the sun – is that so wrong of me?”

“Nay, it is not,” she said, her voice but higher than a whisper; and as a gentle smile pulled at her lips, and her husband answered in kind, she knew the trial was over.

“You are not angered,” he said.

“I am not,” Éowyn answered; and, in truth, she could say little else. For he had spoken to her both as a Captain to a Rider and as a Lord to his Lady – and that had been the true wish which had driven her, to know his thoughts for both those sides and see that they were fair. Yet he had done the more, and let her glimpse into the husband’s thoughts as he never had before – and that single glimpse had brought to her such hope and ease that no thoughts of battle ever had.

And, as she stood beside her lord in the clear air of morning, her mind and heart both let the Rider rest, until some dire need would call upon him once again. But till that time she would receive the shining of the sun in easy heart, and dwell on lighter things – the gardens of Ithilien, the growing of her people, the flowing of her life; and she would draw her joy from them as she did from songs of battle and feats of arms. And, thinking this, Éowyn took notice of her sword as it rested sheathed in her hands, and she felt herself none the weaker for it.

And then she turned to Faramir and said:

“I had thought to return before you came to me. But now that you are here, what would you wish us do? Or is it that you have some duty that calls you now away, and so you wished to take your leave?”

“I have no such duty now,” he said, “nor have I yet any design on how to spend the morning; I came only to see you. But now that I am here, would you walk down with me and then see where our path would take us?”

And she walked by him towards the house, then past it in the forests; and they spoke of what was to come, of the harvest that was nigh and the fall sewing that would follow, of their home that would be finished, and of the second crossing to Ithilien that would come once the raising of two other villages would see its labours done. And as they trod through the green grass and passed beneath tall forest tops she felt at peace to walk beside him, and happy for the days that were to come. 

~~~~ 

Beneath his back there stretched a hard, cold surface, like to a block of stone, immovable and dead. A heat flowed in his chest, and for it his breaths were stifled. His limbs seemed shattered where they lay, bound to the earth and still. Utter darkness was around him, for his eyes were closed, and his lids too heavy to be lifted. In body he was weak, as he could not remember ever being, but in mind he was alert; and he could hear the crackle of flame drawing ever nearer, slowly and steadily, its heat smothering and dry. Smoke rolled about him, for he choked to breathe it, fire closed upon him, for the air about turned warm and leaden, and from under the stillness of his body he screamed in agony.

All things seemed to move at their own pace, soft, hidden and tormenting, and so too would the flames move when they would burn through his clothes and lick at his flesh. And in a flicker of thought it was just so; but he could not move away, could not cry out for the pain and the dread. And he thought he could feel the moves he could not make, and hear the moans that would not pass his lips. And he was lost in smoke and shadow and stillness, and they were one with him, and one with the fire; and he trembled without for the coldness beneath him, and trembled within for his fury of thought, body and mind shattered at once, and the Lord Faramir awoke in shivers and in broken gasps for air, to a starlit night and to cool hands upon his arms.

Darkness was about him still, but little lighter than that of his dream; the hour was late. But the clear air he felt mended his heart and helped him find his ease, for the waking world was close about him, comforting and raw. His breaths were full and rich, and he drew them in hunger while his chest heaved; about his legs the coverings lay warmed and twisted, and his hands had moved to clutch at them when he had sat up from his troubled sleep.

The world was well, he told himself, the world was well and so was he; no burden was upon him, no true peril by him – and at his side was only soothing and relief. And so he closed his eyes against the darkness and took one last deep breath; and he willed his body loosen and the strain in his chest abate. Then, when he was still at last, he let his head fall heavy to his chest and his shoulders sag, and as the moments passed he found his peace. And, suddenly, he felt the tangle of his hair along his face and the soft touch of slender hands upon his arm and shoulder – for he could now remember their slow move from the time of his waking – and for a moment Faramir wondered whether they would retreat in all.

The feel of his lady’s hands to ease away his dreams, and now the warm whisper of her form close to his side – that, he had not awaited; yet he had hoped for it, as he had for her quiet voice to drive away the silence, and the fresh scent of her hair to cover the bitter one of ash – for he had foreseen when settling to his sleep that he would find little rest that night.

Upon that day, the dusk had come and deepened before his work was set aside, for, with the summer labours nigh, there was much to see to. His duty at this middle-month was to Ithilien and to its people, to know how much of every seed was reaped, what was lost and for what grounds, what men would be in need, if any, and who, for that reason, could not pay their debts owed to the City; then, later on, when all accounts of gains and losses would in the end be gathered from all the provinces together, he would see to the whole of Gondor, and to the possessions of its King. Less than a week remained before the days of harvest; and since the setting of the sun the Prince of Ithilien had been surveying the early reckoning for his land’s crops when a fresh lighted candle fell knocked upon his desk and set some of the scrolls aflame.

Fire alone was not a daunting sight; he did not fear its flames, their warmth and light still he would use and welcome. But there were times when to behold them would leave him struck somehow, and he would think to catch the scent of ash and burning cloth from close at hand. A shiver would pass through him, and Faramir would know his coming dreams would hold no peace.

So he had guessed that he would dream of smoke and ash and fire, even as he had dispatched the flames and set to rights the papers they had ruined. And now that he sat upon soft linen sheets, his breath at ease once more, he was relieved that such a care was past and over. And so he left behind such shadows, and turned instead in heart and mind towards the lady by his side, naught more than a shape barely perceived and an airy breath coming forth from the darkness.

Her touch to his arm was gentle, still new to them both, it seemed, and strained, but she offered it with care; and as he placed his left hand upon her own she withdrew it not. For a time they remained so, listening to the beating of their hearts, and in the end he pressed his hand to hers and ran his thumb along her fingers. And he wished their chamber would hold some light, so that he could glimpse her eyes as he turned to face her. For he wondered whether such a gesture would trouble her or not, indeed, whether his very presence did - for some time had passed since Éowyn had last stiffened by his side, and even now he could read no unease from her. Yet in the room there was no light. And so, he raised her hand up to his lips, then held it to his cheek a moment; and in the end he let it go, and lay down upon the bed once more.

But in the stretching silence Éowyn did not follow; instead she sat beside him still, and, for the tiny rustle that he heard and the gentle tugging that he could feel at his right side, Faramir guessed that she was worrying the sheets, twisting them in her lap perhaps. It seemed to him she was deciding something, for he could feel her dithering; but there were no cares weighing upon her heart, and so he lay silent in the dark, gazing toward the place where he perceived his lady’s form, and waiting; and in the end she shifted slightly, and in a quiet voice she said:

“Are you well?”

“I am,” he answered. “Was my sleep so restless that it woke you?"

“Nay,” she said, “you barely moved your head upon the pillows… then, at the end, clutched at the covers; but your breath was strained and broken. It was your breath that woke me.” 

“My apologies, then.”

“Nay, do not…” she answered, and Faramir imagined he could see the small shake of her head. Then after a pause she asked: “What did you dream of, would you tell me?”

A little while passed; then, before he even knew it, Faramir reached out his left hand and slowly sought her own. Her hand felt warmer now, and once again she turned not from his touch; and as he gently drew his arm back across his chest, and moved his other one away, she settled easily against him. Her right hand came upon his shoulder, his right arm round her back; and, as they lay together so, a warm feeling came upon him; and he could hardly believe that at last he held his lady, that she was at ease and resting in his arms, and that it was a darkened thing that had brought it about.

“I dreamt of fire,” Faramir said in the end.

“Fire?”

“Aye…”

“Does it haunt you? The fire…”

“It does, at times,” he answered; and then he felt her head turn slightly where it rested at his shoulder, and how she took her breath.

“You know what haunted me…” said Éowyn, “what haunts me still at whiles; and when I dream of it you help drive it away. Yet of your pains I know but little, and even less from your own words; when your dreams come… there is but little I can do, though I do wish-…” And here she paused as if searching her words, and Faramir allowed her time to find them; yet in his mind he had already guessed what she would ask of him, and, as he waited, he made ready for it. “I would hear what troubles you, what has once troubled you, if you would speak of it… so that-… I would not have you troubled.”

“What is the little that you know?”

“What I know comes only from the words of others – rumours, and whispers, and some accounts that may well have been halved, or twisted; I do not know the truth.”

“Yet if you know the words of others you must know the events such as they were, or some of them, at least; that my brother fell in sight of his City, that my father turned to madness from using the Stone of Anor; that he ended his life upon a pyre, like to the heathen Kings of old, and that he sought to take my own.

“As to the truth,” he said, “I myself do not claim to know it. But I will tell you of the House of Húrin, such as it was upon the brink of War; such as I saw it.”

And, at his words, Éowyn closed her eyes against the darkness, for her heart filled with pity to hear him tell such grievous things, and she doubted now her right to bid him speak of them. And she felt the steady rise of his chest, and heard his voice come even – and, for the sadness she could guess behind them, a deep sense of caring stirred her.

“My brother you must have known by more than name,” said Faramir, “though to Rohan he went seldom, and waged war instead upon the eastern borders.”

“Aye, I have seen him,” she answered, “for when he did come to the Mark he climbed the steps of Meduseld to greet Théoden King. A noble Lord he seemed to me, hardy and strong, and more like to our Riders than to the grave Men of your City.”

“And so he was, a great Captain to our people, ever in search for mighty deeds, ever desiring our City’s victory… I loved my brother dearly, with his merits and his faults alike, for he was not without the latter, as no man is; yet in the end his very nature was his undoing.”

And Faramir felt his voice catch, and, for a short moment, thought himself within the forests of Ithilien, his men arrayed in a half-circle behind him; but there were no Halflings before him now, only his lady wife as she lay by his side – and he felt bound to speak.

“You must know, as others do, that Boromir was one of the Nine Walkers,” he began again, and Éowyn nodded at his words, silent and sad. “You would know not that I should have been chosen to set out to Rivendell, for that very departure was brought about by a far-seeing dream, which had come first to me, and later to my brother. No news that the weapon of the Enemy was found had reached any in Gondor at that time, and so, the meaning of the dream alone was though to be the errand. Yet for his age and hardiness he argued for my place… and so, left to his doom… And even now, when the Dark One is fallen and all is set to rights, I wonder what would have come to pass should I have left in his stead.

“His horn, cloven in two, came as the second sign of my brother’s passing in those days; it left us with broken hearts and lessened hopes, and father was the dourer for it.”

And here Faramir paused, and his silence filled the room, ringing out in sorrow and regret. A sigh escaped him, and his eyes closed; and soon enough the world nearby seemed like the makings of his dream. Caught in the crook of his right arm, and also spread upon it, he felt his lady’s hair flowing and tangled, its weight a soothing warmth; where his fingers rested at the small of her back her night-shift was soft and warm to the touch; apart from their breathing there was little else to hear, and he cared little for the quiet.

“My father…” he began once more, “I knew him as a stern man; proud he was, learned and wise, and he held sway over all things in his realm – for so he reckoned it; it might well have been that he would have challenged the King’s claim had the heir of Isildur come before him, for so did Mithrandir say to me when I asked him of my father’s final hour. This he revealed as the Lord Denethor’s true wish; and I wondered then as I do now whether that indeed had been my father’s will, my father as I knew him in his younger years and mine, and not some false and twisted thought brought about by countless battles with the mind of the Enemy. And yet… perhaps this very faltering of mine comes from pity alone, and the desire of the son to see not his father’s memory dishonoured, and I am in the wrong to have it – for who could have known his mind, as he spoke little of his purpose before seeing it fulfilled.

“He spoke little… and trusted even less; and towards the end, when hope was dearly needed, he fell into despair; such were his later years, such was the last part of his rule, when pride and despair must have vied one with the other to weaken his wisdom…

“Yet I was told it was not always so, that even stern and quiet as his nature was there still were times when he was merry, when he delighted in the world – but I cannot remember them, for they have faded with the years. It may well be so because such fair and lighter days passed away with my mother – and she herself is to me only a fleeting touch of warmth, the echo of a voice I cannot rightly hear; I was only a child of five when she died – withered under the Shadow, the people said – and from my early years I knew only brother and father.”

‘And he has lost them both’, Éowyn mused, and that thought pierced her heart.

“Yet more so of brother than of father,” he went on, “for we spent little time together when I was young, father and I; I do not begrudge him that, nor did I even then – times were dark in Gondor, there was too little time for him to spend with any of his sons; and I had not yet turned a year into my life when he became the Steward of the City… And with the years… he was to me more lord than father, just as Boromir was more brother and friend than Captain of arms – and yet I loved them both the same.

“But while Boromir and I were mostly of like mind – and when it was not so we could agree to each hold to his own opinion – my lord and father was displeased with many of my judgements, at times blaming the well from whence he thought they came – for there was no love between him and Mithrandir, or Gandalf as you know him, and it was from him that I learned of many things; and there were other times when I myself agreed little with his designs. Yet he was Lord of the land, and his bidding was to be done – and so I did.”

Then of a sudden his voice turned grave and lower than before; and for the first time since he had begun to speak that night Éowyn thought she could in truth sense his distress.

“In the end,” said Faramir, “I cannot rightly see whether I knew him well or none at all – he alone could answer that; and he is gone…

“And even of my father’s passing I cannot see what to believe… That the palantir played a great part in it – therein lies no question, but… however unseemly it may be, I cannot but wonder whether my fall did, indeed, rush his end… If so, then I am guilty of it, if not…

“They told me I called out for him – I cannot remember it; they said that for a moment he recovered his wits, but then… drew forth a knife to slay me. And in the end, when he was stayed, he… set himself aflame upon the pyre – and I cannot know whether denying life was yet another touch of madness, or it was done instead full knowing and full willing – and that, for all his weeping and remorse, and love remembered at the end, still he renounced me… from pride and mistrust.”

And Éowyn was grieved to hear this, and wished that she could speak to him, for she had spoken naught, had done naught to offer comfort or any sign of care; but all the words she had lay silenced in her throat, for they seemed weak and frayed. What could be said by any to comfort such great hurts? What words would not fall hollow on his ears? And she cursed herself for her dumbness and for calling such thoughts upon him; and she feared that he would say no more, and that any chance to do right by him would pass her by – but after a little time Faramir spoke, and his voice, though saddened, was even once again:

“I walked in both their steps for a time, for so did my duties compel me – I had need of my father’s study, of his scrolls and books and notes; before that – of my brother’s logs and plans and maps, and all his written thoughts on the defence of Gondor and the City. And there was little time for grief and sorrow, and lesser still to judge any and all… Time passed… anguish subsided into ache, and was the easier to bear. As does happen for all who lose any one dear to their heart, whether in the wage of war or not. For no man in this world may live without some sadness or regret; or, if they do, then they are blessed, but know not of their blessing.”

And when he said this Éowyn thought that she would weep – for even as her heart welled in the pride that he had bowed not under such heavy burdens, but rose instead the stronger, it also stood to breaking for his trials. And she would have kissed his brow and held him to her while he took his rest – but she could not bring herself to move; she would have hugged him where she lay upon his chest – but her arms felt leaden. For there was still a voice inside her saying that it was not her place, and that her words or touch would bring no comfort, and she would be so forward all in vain. But he was there beside her, her husband, sorrowed and restrained; and when at last she knew how dear he was to her she could bear it no longer. And so she gently raised her hand toward his face, her move awkward and shy. And she pressed her fingers to his cheek, and he turned into her touch, cradling her hand into his own; and as he kissed her palm and drew her closer to him she knew it was comfort enough.

And when, for once, the morning found them in each other’s arms, Éowyn also found she felt her awkwardness no more.

~~~~ 

Author's notes: In “The Steward and the King” Éowyn turned to the thought of being a healer and looking after “things that grow” after being healed at heart (so to speak) and finding love; I would think that, even if in this AU story love would happen later on, she would still turn to the same things, since she is the same character – thus the need to approach the subject of bearing arms again. However, her questions are not meant to determine whether her lord and husband would ‘let’/’want’ her go to war, but to understand what exactly would drive him to that decision, both rationally and emotionally – just another step in knowing him better on both grounds, though made with less doubt than ever before. I hope I’ve managed to put that across fairly well.

Also, Tolkien described Faramir as being “modest, fair-minded and scrupulously just, and very merciful" in one of his letters; I imagine that, even when aware of them, the greater part of Faramir would have him forgive his father’s failings and his end, if only to find some peace. Also, as he wasn’t really there to see Denethor’s reaction to his being wounded, or hear his words first-hand (or, more importantly, read what could be read of his heart), he would wonder about them even with the accounts told to him. Faramir could later speak to Gandalf for a more in depth account, but perhaps not even that would satisfy…

I tried to give to Faramir the point of view of a person who doesn’t have all the facts and doesn’t know all sides of the story – or at least he doesn’t think he knows them. I’m quite curious to see how you think it turned out – I’ll be grateful for all and any reviews. Thanks!